But knowing the Dark Elf, he would probably sit back and watch Alaire get out of this one himself. He walked into it without Naitachal's help, after all.
I was only after information....
Kai moved into the periphery of his vision, a blur of flashing metal and fine, white fabric, fighting two of the uglies by himself.
He might be drunk but he sure fights well.
In fact, he was keeping up amazingly well with his two opponents, each by himself twice Kai's size. One of them had a gashed and bleeding wrist; Kai was still untouched.
In fact, Kai was having the time of his life.
He wanted this to happen. Just like 1 thought. Alaire flushed with sudden anger. When he got hold of Kai, he'd beat the living daylights out of him!
But first he had to survive this brawl....
To do that, he had to stay calm and think his way out. Easy, now. Anger and fear are the mind clouders.
He calmed, as Naitachal had taught him; concentrated everything on the moment of now. His opponent seemed to slow -- and Alaire saw the disadvantages of that odd little sword.
The moment of opportunity opened, and Alaire struck for it.
This time Alaire bound the toughs blade, and pulled it away; it dropped to the floor between them.
Before the sailor could reach for it, Alaire kicked it into hidden shadows under the tables. Weaponless, the man lost all the courage that ale had given him. He turned and fled, leaving Alaire to find another oppo- nent.
Get these two off Kai, he thought. But there were five. Where'd the othe A sword flashed at the edge of his vision, and he ducked out of the way just in time, the shwwoooosh of the blade loud in his ears.
In the corner, the harpist was manfully trying to play on, singing "I'll Go No More Roving" as a strange counterpoint to the dance of death in the front of the tavern.
Alaire did not even bother to reflect on how close that last strike had come, for this new opponent had committed a little too much to the stroke and was off- balance. Before he could recover, Alaire slapped his blade aside, and thrust. It was not even a serious attack, but it caused the other to stagger hastily back- wards, tripping and falling backwards over one of the frail little stools. In an effort to save himself, arms flail- ing wildly, the man fell into three tables, knocking their contents, wooden steins, mostly, clanking and splashing in all directions. With a roar of anger, one of the customers grabbed his emptied stein and broke it over the toughs head, taking him out of the fight com- pletely.
Kai! Wher He glanced frantically around, at first unable to see his companion. Then, the white blur reappeared from the shadows, an angry little whirlwind that showed no sign of exhaustion.
By now half the bar's customers had cleared out, prudently, but a fair number remained, some waging bets that Kai would come out unscratched. Amazingly, this lot acted as if the fight was some kind of entertain- ment staged for their benefit. Almost as if they had expected it.
That little maniac, Alaire seethed. He wasn't fighting two anymore, but three. And they were huge -- but their size was a handicap in the bar's compact interior. Kai was still wearing that grin of sardonic enjoyment, and he had already given them a few bloody nicks.
Alaire paused at that, before throwing himse Kai's rescue. Is he playing with them? he wondered.
Kai had a wild, feral look on his face, no sign of fear, only pleasure of the most animal sort.
Instead of flinging himself into the fight, Alaire joined the spectators for a moment. Given the Alaire had seen him display so far, he came to the con- clusion the Crown Prince could have killed all of the toughs by now, if he had truly wanted to. He was in no danger; he never had been in any danger, not from the very first! He was enjoying this!
And that explained the relaxed attitude of the onlookers. Probably regulars, and familiar wit Prince, they had known this was going to happen the moment Kai walked into the bar!
Alaire was angry all over again. His attitude really stinks. Reckless, foolish, starting fights when he has no business doing so, and pulling me right along with him! He didn't know I could fight! He could have got- ten me killed!
"All right! Break it up!" a loud, authoritative voice boomed behind him.
Alaire turned to see three uniformed men, guards of some kind, standing in the doorway. They wore gray cloaks with gold braid, shiny, black boots and a single, silver star badge over the breast. And disapproving looks.
The Watch, Alaire thought. Constables. Wonderful.
Now he's going to get us thrown into the local gaol!
Alaire tried to sheathe his sword before one of the constables could catch him with it in his hand, but it was too late; the one nearest him caught him in the act. Oh, Gods, now what? he thought, dismayed.
What have I got into?
The entire population of the tavern froze. Kai glanced over, his sword raised in mid-slash, looking disappointed. His opponents backed away, slithering towards the rear exit, where more of the official-looking men appeared, blocking their way.
"You, and you," the first man said, pointing at Kai and Alaire. "Come with me. Now."
Alaire briefly toyed with the notion of running like a scared rabbit once they got outside. Heaven only knew what penalties were waiting for them. He didn't think diplomatic immunity extended to tavern-brawling.
He looked to Kai for cues. But the boy seemed defeated, sullen, as if cheated of some bizarre pleas- ure. He sheathed his sword with an air of disgust.
Alaire did the same, and followed the uniformed men into a store room stacked high with ale kegs. No chance to run here....
He noted however, with interest and hope, that the constables didn't ask for their blades.
Diplomatic immunity, after all? Do they know me already? I must have some kind of diplomatic immu- nity in this situation....
Alaire thought frantically. No, they couldn't possibly know who and what he was yet, not down here in the city. But Kai, he has something better. He's the Prince! Does he do this often enough for the constables to recognize him? Would his rank cover me as well?
Could I try a little Bardic persuasion -- no, better not!
He paled, remembering there were severe penalties for using magic. Better not even think too directly about that.
The uniformed men instructed them to sit, and Kai sat on the top of an upturned keg, carefully dusting it off first, so as not to soil his clothing. His long legs dan- gled awkwardly over the edge. He didn't seem too concerned about the situation.
But then, he hadn't been concerned about picking a fight with five men who were all much bigger than either himself or his companion.
"What's going on?" Alaire said to Kai, finally, unwill- ing to play the guessing game any longer. "Are we going to gaol, or do we need to bribe someone?"
Kai waved the question away, as if it didn't matter.